


Sorrow Has A Human Heart

by Natashasolten



Category: Wiseguy
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 09:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natashasolten/pseuds/Natashasolten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man in a cabin in the middle of the woods.  A blizzard.  A miraculous reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorrow Has A Human Heart

**Author's Note:**

> While I find myself mostly distracted by Sonny, this story is about how much I really love Vinnie, and how much someone else loves him, too.

The man moved gracefully through the wavering golden light. As he touched the long overcoat by the door, rabbit-fur-lined, his mind curved back for an outstretched second to a clamor of memory, a city, a spiraling world of glitter, guns, champagne and more money than he could spend. Voices. Laughter. One voice said, as if out loud, “You want more?”

The memory slid shut. The dark curtain fell. He slid his arms into the jacket and opened the door.

Ice-wind whipped at his face. Snow threshed the air, black and gray flakes the size of quarters silhouetted in the amber glow from the windows. It wasn’t yet night but the day waned early, all but gone.

Blizzard.

Already this week there had been at least two feet of snow. Now came the real storm.

Dusky wood smoke from the chimney wafted by him, reminding him why he’d come out in this heathen weather, this hell. He grabbed some wood from the pile underneath the porch and took a load in, then another.

The storm called his name. He pulled his cap further over his ears and ignored it.

Hearing voices again?

His heart pumped steadily as he lifted more wood. He wondered how. His world had long ago deteriorated to a landscape of past upheaval, broken things. How could this fragile organ even survive?

But it had. It did. It pumped blood at full velocity. Kept him vibrant. Even in his escape to this isolated place, fleeing from aimless tragedy and unsung godless lands, he kept himself in shape, in check. He kept the good memories, even if he shared them with no one. He kept a wisp of smile.

The wind ached. Howled up through black-branched trees. Hissing. Pushing. Catching itself around the skirt of his coat. Snow fell up. Dark leaves witched around the house in evil circles.

Now the storm cried.

He knew better than to look in the direction of voices. Usually they made him for a fool, mind-tricks, memory games, unreal. He refused that haunted road. Would not believe in ghosts. Although out here, in his woods, the boundaries for rules drew thin.

The wind’s breath stung his exposed face and cheeks. Maybe it was his own voice, cursing it, responding to the needling pain.

It echoed. Another cry.

He stood and dropped the wood, squinting through rushing, icy flakes and more leaves and cold, cold power.

It was difficult to see, but he thought he saw, at the base of a tree at the center of his yard, a dark, slumped shape. Motionless. Could be mistaken for a rock. But it did not belong.

Heart pumping, filling him up, he approached.

The thing was smaller than he, dark-coated, but wearing thin black slacks not suited for cold. Snow had already swirled into drifts making a nest for it, a frozen cloud.

The surge of adrenaline pumped through him again.

He leaned forward and tilted the pale, cold face upward. Older than he remembered. Grayer at the temples.

Tears froze in his eyes.

Strength waved through him in a strange kind of panic as he bent quickly, grabbing the body under the arms. It was corpse-cold, stiff, frozen against his chest. He pulled harder until he had it slung over his shoulder, lighter weight than he’d expected, and trudged with his burden back into his wavering golden light.

The fire on the hearth snapped and spit. It smelled of ash and oak. He let the body slide gently to the floor. He tore the pillows and cushions from his couch, made a new nest for this thing and now in the bright firelight examined it more closely.

For a moment he could not think. His memory turned upside down. Because this was impossible. This, one of his deepest memories, was also the most shattering. The universe simply did not put things so irrevocably broken back together again. Ever.

And yet…

This part of his past, although nearly frozen to death, appeared whole as if he’d stepped into a time warp, and hopelessly, attainably desirable.

Carefully he removed its gloves, brushing naked palm to palm, chaffing fingers like icicles.

It did not move. Barely breathed.

He bent down and breathed hot air into its face. Snowflakes melted against thick, dark lashes, trickled down into stiff, brown hair.

He went to work. He piled blankets as close to the fire as he could get them without burning them up. He put water on to boil. He came back with a bowl of steaming, hot water, a cloth.

He slowly undid the stiffened coat, gently rolled the body and pulled the jacket off the arms. Underneath was a leather shoulder holster. Inside, a gun. 

Have you come to kill me?

He took the contraption off, put it aside, trying to work quicker.

Then came the shirt. As he got that almost off, the body jerked up a bit with a groan of pain, shuddered and went still again. He placed the steaming towel over cheeks and chin, then neck, then chest. Then quickly dried the skin with more towels.

Next he pulled off the frozen slacks, damp now with melted snow, took everything away. The body was thinner than he remembered. Withered with cold. The genitals were tight, drawn up; he ached at the sight. Tried not to remember a past once vibrant, virile, this body touching him, filled with molten power he could never hope to contain.

He reached out and pulled one fire-warmed blanket over the bared, chill skin. Then he started on himself.

He knew what had to be done. It was the quickest, best way.

He took off all his clothes, tossing them in a pile by the couch. Then he grabbed another blanket, made sure the body was close to the fire, and crawled under the blanket pulling the cold thing tightly to him.

His hotness felt invaded by ice. The thing gasped against his chest in shock. Or maybe it was his own gasp he heard. But it shuddered. It shivered. And now new breaths stuttered, in and out. And now moans.

Its feet moved against his shins, arctic.

He swiftly remembered once, in the heat of love, thinking: We could melt glaciers.

The wind wailed over the house as he drew coldness into him, melted it, heated it, as the body in his arms squirmed and moaned and cried out. Twice it spoke. Single words. “You.” And, “Don’t.”

Later, it opened its eyes, brown and dazed. The fire leapt in them.

He got up and made the tea. He brought it back. He propped the thing against his chest and made it drink as it shuddered and choked and spit. It got most of the hot liquid down and rested after, languid.

Its skin turned rosy after awhile. It did not look at him. It turned onto its side on a cushion and seemed to fall to sleep.

Despite the storm the power had, so far, stayed on. A distant ring roused him from his own stupor, his own meditation of the quilted body, one gold shoulder exposed now, firelight dancing in browner shadows over that smooth, bare skin. He lay on pillows beside it, body touching just barely, sharing warmth.

Still naked himself, he got up. He picked up the phone. “Yeah?”

“It’s me. Word’s out. Intel says he’s found you.”

“You said he was gone forever. Another country. Another identity.”

“Someone leaked the info. Confessed. Told us who bought it. It’s him.”

All he could do was sigh and look back at the hearth. “So, Frank, what’re you going to do?”

“This storm is huge. You’re on your own.”

“I always was.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“I don’t need protection from him.”

“The last time you saw each other, he said he’d kill you if you ever met again.”

“Yeah, I know what he said.” What he’d really said was, You’re dead to me.

“This is serious, Vince!”

“Well, anyway…no one can get through this storm alive. The roads up here are all closed as of this afternoon.”

“And you’re okay?”

“Do I sound okay?”

“Hmmph.”

“I’m fully stocked. I got water, food, wood. Even if the power goes out I got batteries.”

“I never liked it, you being so isolated now.”

“But I like it. It keeps me sane.”

“Sane? I think you’re damned nuts. Grizzly Adams. That is not fun.”

“Hey, I shaved today.” He glanced worriedly at the fire. He didn’t want to leave his charge too long. He needed to get some food into him. He needed to keep him as warm as possible.

Sonny. Sonny Steelgrave. Here in his cabin. After two long years.

“Hey, Frank, thanks, but I gotta go. The fire’s getting low.”

“Take care, kid, ya hear?”

“I always take care,” he replied.

The cabin was very warm. He did not dress. He prepared soup and toast. He brought enough for both of them back to the hearth.

Sonny slept on, one arm slung over a pillow, body resting on a couch cushion. He faced the fire. His face was rosier now, tinged with gold, no longer bloodless. His hair had dried in tangles on his forehead. He was no longer shaking with uncontrollable jerking and shuddering. His breath came soft and warm.

Vinnie pulled another blanket around them both and brought his side against Sonny’s back. He remained half propped on two cushions. The food lay just beyond him on the side of the hearth.

He reached out and brushed at the tangled bangs, then stroked one warm cheek. In his throat he felt a shaky sigh.

Sonny moved slightly, made an indistinct sound.

“Hey.” Vinnie, soft.

Sonny rolled, staring up.

Vinnie touched his shoulder. “You have to eat something.”

Sonny grimaced.

“Come on.” Vinnie got his hands underneath his back and propped him up again, the way he had to get him to drink the tea. Sonny had defined muscles in his chest and arms, but they were lean, and his ribs stood out underneath his skin in sharp relief. His once firm stomach looked hollow, indented.

Sonny’s right hand came up, then back, and his palm landed against Vinnie’s thigh. He pushed. Vinnie’s left arm cradled him easily. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“You wanna sit up yourself, you have to build your strength.” Vinnie reached for the soup bowl. He knew a spoon would have been ridiculous so he hadn’t bothered with one. He held the edge of the bowl to Sonny’s mouth and tilted it.

Closing his eyes, Sonny swallowed.

“That’s good,” Vinnie said casually. “You can’t kill me if you can’t stand.”

He choked. Vinnie took the bowl away. Sonny coughed twice, then his head fell weakly back against Vinnie’s shoulder.

Without thinking, Vinnie’s arm tightened protectively.

A whisper. “Don’t.” His hand came up and slapped weakly at Vinnie’s forearm.

“Don’t what?”

No answer.

Vinnie took a piece of toast and offered it. Sonny refused to open his mouth, turned away. Vinnie took Sonny’s hand in his, turned it up. “Here.” He pressed the toast into his palm. Sonny’s hand curled around it. Now he brought it to his mouth by himself, chewed off a small bite, swallowed as if it hurt.

Slowly, as if cooperating only under protest, Sonny made his way through more soup and toast with Vinnie’s help. Then he seemed to fall asleep.

Vinnie let him down gently on the cushions, fixed the fire, then brought the blankets up and curved himself against Sonny’s now warm back.

He floated in a haze, never falling fully asleep, aware at all times of the body pressed against his chest, stomach and thighs. Voices flew at him as if from down a long, black tunnel. His mother: Then you’re a fool! Frank: Don’t forget what he is…a cold-blooded killer. Pete (now dead, the grief never ending): Do you see something worth saving in this man?

The answer came in unplanned action. At the bachelor party Vinnie saw what Sonny was about to do, saw the wire in his hand, saw the predatory gleam in those gold-brown eyes. He couldn’t allow it, no matter what. He couldn’t let Sonny take the fall he had planned for all the others. Vinnie had jumped up just as Sonny was about to kill Patrice, knowing this was the only way to prevent an even worse crime and Sonny going to prison for life, and yelled, “There’s going to be a police raid. We have to get out!” That was when everything changed. It all stopped. His ruse. His lies. His bond to Sonny. His heart.

As lovers, there had been a kind of unspoken trust between them. Vinnie had not told Sonny about Patrice’s plan. Vinnie had not told Sonny he worked for the OCB. Vinnie had broken that trust as if it were a child’s toy.

Chaos ensued. Chairs toppled, men ran.

Sonny stayed behind a moment: “How do you know?”

“I’m part of that plan.”

Sonny gave Vinnie a look that blistered his soul. For a moment he wavered. Then he ran off with the others, leaving Vinnie alone in a long hall facing a damning phone call he now must make, and the possible end of his career.

When it came out that Vinnie was a Fed, Sonny’s life was number one on the hit list of the Mob. After all, it was Sonny’s fault that Vinnie had been brought into the fold. And it was the first time a Fed had ever been “made” in the organization, and that was an event now of great embarrassment to all.

The best Sonny could hope for was unbridled disgust from his friends and cohorts. The worst? Finding himself in a thousand pieces, food for the fishes.

So Sonny went away. He left everything behind. Even Theresa. But before he went Vinnie had him brought in, offering wit-sec, and visited him in the interrogation room.

At first Sonny refused to speak to him, or even look at him. Later, he said, “You’re dead to me.” And when he did glance at him, his look was filled with outrage, hate, and even more terrible, hurt.

For nearly that whole time in the room together, Vinnie had been mute. In truth, he was unable to speak. How could he tell a man he’d betrayed, a bad man, an enemy man, a man who was to be married, that he really did love him? There were no words. And even if there had been, belief in those words had fled that room for good.

Sonny refused wit-sec, said he could make it on his own.

Before he vanished for good, at the threshold of the door he paused. Under his breath Sonny muttered, “If I ever see you again…”

Frank had taken that as a threat. So Vinnie’s whole identity was changed, although he continued to work for another year or so until he could no longer stand the stress.

Instead of a shrink, he opted for a cabin in the woods. He lived off savings, and a box of money filched by Roger from Mel Profitt’s ill-gotten gains. Even after giving Frank one million two hundred and fifty thousand of that money for his wife’s liver transplant, there was still quite a lot left.

From time to time, Frank checked in on him. Over the summer he’d even come up a couple times for a fishing weekend, always grouchily insisting on tying his own flies. He had no other friends except Roger, who managed to stay hidden and away. He hadn’t heard from him in over a year.

More voices came down the long hall of his dusty dreams. Echoes of a past that gripped too tight.

Then something woke him. Not a sound… He opened his eyes.

Sonny was staring at him darkly. He’d turned in the night and was facing Vinnie now, propped up on a pillow. He reached out, slapping at the side of Vinnie’s head. Vinnie did not flinch.

He said, “Your hair’s too long.”

He did not remember his last haircut. His hair brushed his shoulders now.

Vinnie replied, “You’re too skinny.”

A glare. A returned glare. “I gotta piss.”

Vinnie motioned to a door by the kitchen. “There.”

Sonny got up shakily, wrapping one of the blankets around himself, and disappeared.

Vinnie rebuilt the fire.

When Sonny returned, he sat down, drawing up another blanket, shivering, though the cabin was warm. Vinnie reached for him. Sonny batted at him against his chest. Teeth gritted. “You do not touch me!”

Something in Vinnie’s chest flapped over sending the blood in a rush. He knelt up and pushed Sonny down before Sonny could even respond, grabbing his hands and holding them above his head. Looking down, he said, “I don’t take orders from you anymore.”

Sonny struggled. Then smiled devilishly.

Vinnie smiled back. “I see you’re feeling better.”

“You could’a let me die,” he challenged.

“No I couldn’t.” He let go of Sonny’s arms but didn’t get off him. “It was a miracle I found you in the first place.”

Sonny brought his hands to his chest, rubbing absently at the wrists where Vinnie had grabbed him.

Vinnie shifted his weight. The blanket fell back to his waist. Fire gleamed over them both. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Sonny’s smile was closed and subtle. “I came to kill you.”

“I figured.” He glanced away at the fire, letting it lull his thoughts. “Idiot,” he muttered. “In this storm?”

“I got caught in it. My car’s stuck about a mile down. I saw your light. I thought I could make it.”

Vinnie leaned over him toward their pile of clothes. He grabbed the holster which still held the gun. “Were you gonna do it with this?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Vinnie ran his forefinger over the tip. “Nice piece.”

“All my pieces are nice.” Immediately, Sonny seemed to realize how that sounded and cleared his throat loudly, rolling his eyes.

Vinnie took the gun from its holster and laid it on Sonny’s bare, gold chest. “Well. There ya go.”

Sonny made no move to take it.

“What?” Vinnie lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.

Sonny started to speak. Stopped.

“Go on,” Vinnie said.

Sonny did not move.

“Well?”

Still no response.

Vinnie took the gun, wrapped Sonny’s hand around it. Sonny let him. Then he held Sonny’s hand up and curved his hand around Sonny’s fingers, pointing the barrel to his own chest. “Do it!”

Sonny just watched him.

“It’s not like there’s anything left.”

“Vinnie, did anyone ever tell you you’re bonkers?”

“All the time.”

“Why don’t you listen?”

Vinnie let go of his hand. Sonny set the gun down at arm’s length, on the edge of the rug. There was a small mark on Vinnie’s bare chest where it had poked him.

“I listen.” 

“But you don’t care.”

“No. Not really.”

Whispered, “I paid dearly to find you.”

“I know. They caught the guy.”

Sonny’s eyes widened at that.

Vinnie reached down and touched his palm flat to Sonny’s chest, then drew a finger down the center. Sonny smacked his hand away.

“You came to kill me?”

Sonny did not reply.

“Yeah?” He almost wanted to smack him. Held back. “Alone? With no back up?”

Sonny shrugged.

“You came to kill me,” Vinnie repeated.

Sonny blinked.

“I don’t believe you.” He touched his chest again. Sonny did not bat him away, but neither did he respond.

Vinnie shifted his weight against Sonny’s hips.

Sonny narrowed his brows as his nostrils flared, a small, sharp intake of breath. “I can’t forgive you,” he half-whispered.

“No one said you had to.” 

“My mind says it. Sometimes.” His lips scowled. “When I’m feeling weak.”

Vinnie’s heart stopped. Started again. The fire cracked and snapped.

“And when you fed me soup.”

Vinnie felt a pain start in his chest. “Well I don’t want it.”

“Good.”

And they stared at each other. Neither giving or taking. But Vinnie sat on top of him and didn’t move. Couldn’t move. He really didn’t care. Not about forgiveness. Not anymore. But still, something about this man… That brown-eyed gaze. And the hurt in it he could never forget. He wanted him. He’d thought about him every single night since they’d parted. And what about Sonny? Had it been the same for him?

‘I paid dearly to find you.’

“The real reason you came,” Vinnie said, “was to see me.”

Sonny sneered. “Dream on.”

“You came alone.”

“This is between you and me. No one else’s business.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You could have called.”

Sonny shook his head.

“No, you wanted to see me.”

“Face to face.”

“Okay, then what?”

Sonny shrugged again.

Vinnie reached out and grasped Sonny’s shoulders hard, grip tightening. “You needed to see if I still existed, here on Earth. If I still breathed. If I still remembered.”

“Remember what? Lies? Duplicity?” The eyes grew bright.

“You needed to see if I still think of you. Every single day.”

Sonny let out a small snort of disgust.

“Because you can’t forget.” Vinnie gripped him tighter. “Can you?”

Sonny winced a little, then said, “I remember that everything that ever came out of your mouth was a lie.”

“Is that what you remember?”

“It’s what happened.”

“I remember a power between us I couldn’t ever define.”

Sonny frowned. “Not real.”

“No?”

Sonny shook his head, suddenly looking away. His face shut.

Vinnie’s nails scratched at smooth skin. He leaned down. Sonny turned his head further away. Lips fell on taut jaw, slid to smooth velvet of the neck.

In the past, Sonny had always so easily, readily reached for him. Now his arms lay limp at his sides.

Vinnie whispered tightly, “You were the villain.”

“Tell yourself that.”

“Believe me, I do.”

Snarling, now, “Get off me.”

“You still want me.” He lifted up.

Sonny’s eyelids shut tight. “I want nothing. Nothing…”

“You want everything.”

Swallowing hard, voice shaky now, “I wanted to forget.”

“That doesn’t work so well. I’ve tried.”

“Just get off.”

Vinnie eased off him now, giving him space. The man was starting to shake. A relapse wouldn’t do.

Vinnie sat back on a pillow, his hand brushing lightly across Sonny’s turned away cheek.

The brown eyes opened, vision scattered by more pain. Vinnie knew that look, too. He’d seen it in his own mirror.

Softly, he rubbed the rough cheek, surprised Sonny didn’t bat his hand again, then said, “Hungry?”

Sonny’s teeth bit hard at his trembling lower lip.

The man needed carbs, needed fattening. Vinnie could see to that at the very least. “I’m thinking pancakes with lots of butter and syrup.”

A shaking whisper. “Fine.”

Vinnie got up, wrapping himself in a quilt. He went to the kitchen and started on the meal. He wrapped the quilt around his waist and tucked it in. As he worked, he thought about the past twelve hours. Sonny’d ended up in his yard half-frozen. Alone. It was very odd. Even for a planned hit. No, Sonny had not come to kill him. He knew that for sure now.

He heard a noise, looked up. Wrapped in a blanket, Sonny came and sat across the bar from him, watching him prepare the batter. Heat the skillet. Make the coffee. He handed him a glass of orange juice.

Sonny drank without comment.

Unshaven, uncombed, Sonny looked gruff. Looked good.

He ate ravenously. Vinnie kept serving the cakes until he finally slowed and put his fork down, and in between flipping them he ate a plateful of his own.

They did not say much except about the food. “More juice?” “Coffee?” “More syrup?”

Afterward, while cleaning up, Vinnie said, “I have some sweats you can wear.”

Sonny swam in them. They dragged the floor, but they were fine.

The wind had died for awhile. Vinnie went out to look at the yard. Sonny stood hesitantly in the doorway, still weak, just watching.

Trees were fallen further out in the woods. Snow sloped and fell in graceful waves everywhere, deep, impassable. It was pitch quiet, the silence like an echo of a distant, never swelling bell. Even in the quiet, all was deceit. The sky looked made of black ash. The storm was not over.

The base of the tree where he’d found Sonny, though covered in drifts, still showed an indentation where the frozen body had been.

Vinnie trudged through hip deep drifts. He dug out under the porch and brought in all the dry wood he could find. As he passed by Sonny standing at the door, not helping, he said, “It’s not done. We’re still in for it.”

Even with thick gloves, his hands and fingers chilled. He added wood to the fire, warmed them as close to the flames as he could stand it.

He worried about the power but it was still on. And the phone. Which later rang.

It was Frank again. Sonny pretended to ignore him while he talked quietly.

“I’m fine. I got power. Yes, the roads are impassable. Even if the snow plow gets here by today, the roads will require chains. And there’s another storm.”

Frank harped that Steelgrave’s whereabouts for two days could not be established.

Vinnie said, “I’m not worried.”

Frank called him crazy again, tone soft, friendly, then called him “sportshoes” once or twice. They hung up.

Sonny dozed on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. The TV droned quietly, fuzzy because the satellite dish did not like snow.

Vinnie did what he could for his clothes and hung them up in the bathroom to dry. Sonny had not lost his taste for expensive things. The overcoat was wool, but still had not been enough to protect him in the sudden temperature fall and oncoming blizzard. The white shirt was finest cotton, the slacks brushed silk. He hung the holster and gun in a closet by the hall. He placed the Rolex, which had nearly frozen to Sonny’s wrist, on the hall table. It still ran. He fingered the smooth, gold band. Amazing, those watches.

Beside the Rolex he placed Sonny’s wallet, thick as usual with one hundred dollar bills. He could not resist looking inside. The I.D. said, “Michael Navarra.”

Sonny woke much later. He wandered the house while Vinnie pretended to ignore him and pretended to watch the news. When had the pretending started again?

In the kitchen he cooked up a pot of stew. For awhile, Sonny was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t care if Sonny rummaged. Looked around. He was okay with that.

Neither of them seemed to want to talk anyway.

He made more coffee.

Built up the fire again.

Late in the afternoon he took a shower and shaved. He combed his wet, long hair back, back. Yeah, he needed a haircut.

Sonny was waiting for him when he came out. “Did you use all the hot water?”

Vinnie shook his head, held his hand toward the misty doorway. “Be my guest.”

After Sonny’s shower, he didn’t look any less forlorn. Tired-eyed. Ragged.

Vinnie served the stew, giving him extra bread.

Sonny, stomach full again, went to the window. The wind had reared again, galloping over the cabin on and on. It was black out, but Sonny didn’t look away for a long time.

The day was shorter than the last. Such was autumn.

Sonny didn’t ask permission for anything. He fell asleep in Vinnie’s sweats in Vinnie’s bed.

Vinnie moved under the comforter and joined him.

Some time in the night the power went out. And so did Sonny’s.

Sonny stood, a ghost silhouette in the dark, staring out the bedroom window.

Vinnie got up and joined him, the air a shock. “What are you looking at?” The blizzard was ripping the world. The sound was banshee and wolf, hunter and hunter. Nothing that was not dominant.

“The past.”

“Nothing but white.”

“It’s out there.”

Vinnie touched his brow. “You’re burning up.”

“You don’t see it?”

Vinnie tugged his hand. “Back to bed.”

Once there, maybe to make up for the silence of the day, Sonny began a fever-rant. “I lived in your lie. I became your lie. I don’t know what that means. Because I never had anything like it then or since. I’m ruined for others. I can’t do anything, even with my own hand, without some thought of you…even if it’s tying you up, hitting you. I can’t. I can’t. So the pretending never stopped even when I ran away. I pretended everything was normal. I pretended I never saw blue eyes and leather jackets every time I closed my eyes. I pretended to date women but sent them home alone. You made me crazy. You made me crazy.”

Maybe they were each other’s disease.

Vinnie reached for him, so hot, agitated.

“Don’t. You make it worse.” He pushed him away – hard – and fell on his hands gasping in the bed.

“No one tells me what to do anymore.” He grabbed Sonny again into his arms, half on top. Sonny fought a little, cursed a little, between heavy wet breaths.

“Shh,” he said, “you’ll wake all the ghosts we’ve wronged.”

Sonny abruptly began to laugh. “You’ve gone off your nut.”

“Then we match.” Vinnie held him, still so hot and bothered, but finally feverishly at rest.

*

The wind wavered on the roof.

Sonny slept against his chest like a child.

*

By morning he seemed better. But after a cold breakfast—the power was still out—he fell to sleep again on cushions by the fire.

Vinnie let him sleep.

By noon he stirred, regarding him blearily. Vinnie lay beside him by the hearth reading a novel. The light of the fire stretched strong and warm. He had batteries. A small generator. But he didn’t need them yet. Vinnie had covered him with a quilt. Sonny seemed to notice, but stayed mute about it. His face was flushed from the fire, from sleep. His eyes moved slowly over the room.

“I had a dream we got in your car. The red one. The Porsche.”

It wasn’t his car anymore. Never really was. But he didn’t say anything. Just loved listening to him talk.

“We drove and drove. To the country. To a huge house. Out back there was a pool, like a part of a river, natural rock. We took off our clothes and dived in. We were swimming around. It felt so good. And you said to me, ‘If we go deep enough, everything will disappear’.”

*

 

“You don’t work anymore?”

Vinnie shook his head. “Not right now.”

“They get tired of you?”

“Takes its toll,” was all he said.

Sonny looked away but nodded. “The casino got sold.”

“I know.”

“Everywhere I go I still look over my shoulder.”

Vinnie folded the corner of the page he was reading in his book, shut it. “That was the life. You get in trouble. No judge. No jury.”

“Yeah. Evil.” Sonny started to stand. “Your way’s no better. Judges. Juries. There’s evil there, too.” He disappeared into the bathroom.

When he came out he sat back down. Vinnie was boiling water over the fire.

“I think the world’s a heavy place. So do you. I handle it my way, you handle it yours,” Sonny said.

“But you’d kill me for my way.”

Sonny looked up at him in utter dismay. “You’d kill me for mine!”

“I’d never let that happen. Why do you think I blew my cover just as you were about to whack The Cat? There was a tape running. You would’ve died for that despite the fact he was a monster. You would’ve…”

“We could’ve taken care of things together…if you’d told me,” Sonny interrupted.

“No way you’d work with a Fed. Sonny. No. Way.”

“We were…”

“Shut it! You know better!”

For awhile it seemed Sonny moped.

Doing it all the old fashioned way—he heard McPike complaining in his head, ‘Grizzly Adams’—he managed to get hot water into mugs, and tea. He handed one to Sonny.

They shared a bar of chocolate.

After awhile, “So if the power doesn’t come back on, we sleeping here tonight?”

“It’d be warmer. But it’s work to keep that fire going.”

Sonny stretched out, his arm under his head on a pillow. The sweatshirt rode up over one sharp hip.

Vinnie said, “It’s weird you came here.”

Sonny suddenly smiled.

“You,” Vinnie accused, trying not to smile back. “You’re weird.”

“What’s weird about revenge?”

“You didn’t come for a corpse.”

Sonny looked altogether too sly when he said, “What’d you think I came for?”

“Everything. I saw your wallet.”

“Huh.”

“Michael is my middle name.”

“Yeah?” He glanced quickly away. “I forgot.”

Vinnie let out a short laugh.

“You think you’re so smart. Well, that smart mouth of yours doesn’t work on me anymore.”

“My smart mouth works fine. On you.”

“You think things that never cross my mind.”

“Hey, I didn’t come hunting for you.”

“Yeah, I know you didn’t. Ever. What does that say about you, then?”

Vinnie blinked. Suddenly there was an air of hurt between them. He started to speak. His tongue twisted. He started again. “I didn’t think you…”

“See, you think things that never cross my mind.”

Sonny’s words surprised him. Or maybe not. It was true. He could have looked for Sonny. He hadn’t.

Quietly, but with a taunting tone, “Maybe it’s only the blizzard that’s keeping me here now.” But what Sonny really said, and what Vinnie heard in his mind, was, ‘Maybe you don’t really want me.’

In his stomach, a quickening, like a tiny surge of panic. Yesterday he’d tried to kiss him. Sonny had turned away. Dammit. Sonny was the hurdle. Not him! Pushing. Always pushing.

But then he thought about it and that was Sonny all the time. Even back in Atlantic City, back in Sonny’s bed. Sonny pushed because it was too hard to ask. Sonny pushed until Vinnie held. Held tight. Held down. That was what Sonny did.

How could he forget?

He hadn’t looked for him. Sonny’s eyes accused. He should’ve been tearing up the foliage to find him. Vinnie looked away. ‘I’m so sorry.’ But he didn’t say it.

Still, Sonny watched him.

It’s a big world. But not that big.

Why didn’t he look? He had never stopped thinking about him. Not for one day.

His eyes prickled. He grimaced. Got up. Went into the kitchen.

Sonny followed. “Run out of excuses?”

It was dark but not too dark to see. He poured himself a glass of freezing water. Listened to the wind. Ignored Sonny standing there next to him in the dark.

“Don’t you have anything stronger around here?” Sonny asked, indicating the glass of water.

Vinnie rummaged. Whiskey. He poured two glasses. Sonny touched the belly of his glass to Vinnie’s, holding it up. But he did not make a toast.

Vinnie sipped. His eyes watered. Why hadn’t he looked for him? He swallowed, head bowed, then said roughly after way too long a silence, “Everything was broken.”

“I know.” Sonny touched his elbow, like he often did in old times, led him back to the fire. Vinnie brought the bottle with them.

He really should have looked for him.

Because he had never, ever stopped wanting him.

They drank and stared at the flames. “Maybe you were punishing yourself,” Sonny offered.

Vinnie winced.

Sonny reached out and lightly touched his cheek. “Babe.” He breathed in. “Just stop.”

Vinnie turned his cheek into his hand, gave a small laugh. “So. You didn’t come to kill me.”

Sonny quirked his head in one shake. No.

Vinnie reached for him at the same time Sonny did. Their faces met. Their lips. The heat of the hearth warmed them. And the rush of blood in veins.

They fell to the cushions, locked, and for a long time just lay there feeling each other. Kisses. Hands under shirts. Lover’s caresses trying less for urgency, more for renewal.

After awhile, Vinnie reached for more. Sonny pulled away, hand on his wrist.

Confused, Vinnie pushed back.

Sonny simply shrugged. But there was nothing simple here. His eyes were dark with luster. “You gotta be sure.”

Vinnie touched his chin, his jaw, the back of his neck. “This isn’t a mistake. You almost died.”

Dreamy now, “Yeah.” His eyes gazed upward. “I’d do it again.”

Vinnie swung his leg over Sonny’s, locking them both together.

Later, before Sonny had managed to completely undress him, he’d escaped long enough to collect a few things.

Sonny’s brow rose at him. His laugh was so relaxed and that sound went right through Vinnie like hot light touching every pleasure nerve he owned.

Outside, cold power overtook the world. Even the stars pulsed to it.

Inside there was fire.

Thrum of blood beat in Sonny’s wrists where he held them down. Their blankets fell, unnoticed.

Sonny could not reach up. He wouldn’t let him. But his legs opened. Vinnie left a kiss at the swelling between them. Sonny’s voice filled the room, not saying much. But intoned with pleasure. He lifted his hips. Letting go one wrist, Vinnie filled that space with a pillow. He had on hand baby oil only. He didn’t know why he’d bought it. Now it would have to do.

He looked down at Sonny, a closed grin. “I want you to want me with all your heart.”

Blandly, “You know I have no heart.”

Vinnie laughed at that, because it was perhaps Sonny’s biggest lie ever. Sonny had come such a long way to find him. “Me, either, then,” and smiled into a long kiss, letting him finally go altogether as Sonny on his own reached for him.

The wind shuffled at eaves, irredeemable.

Inside, his own deeds, the same.

He could not take back the past.

Maybe he could make a new path.

He was all bone, sinew, muscle. The only things soft about Sonny were eyelids, earlobes, lips, ass. The velvet sac between his legs.

The rest was hard and stark.

Vinnie was making inroads quicker now. Sonny squirmed. He started to let up, then realized his error.

Sonny said softly, “Hold down tighter. I’m liable to get away,” then groaned in ecstasy as Vinnie pushed into him with his weight, hands again pressing wrists to the cushions. Sonny’s legs tightened around him.

It wasn’t that Sonny was unwilling. No. Vinnie was the only person in the world who knew Sonny secretly loved being put in his place. Sonny wiggled a bit.

“Hold still.”

At the words, he arched up, relaxed and Vinnie went deeper.

There wasn’t enough he could get of this man. But this would have to do. His long hair brushed Sonny’s shoulders and face. He kissed him.

There was no rush. The light was amber. Everything could stop now. Everything could disappear and all would be well.

He thought of the frozen body out under the trees.

‘I paid dearly to find you.’

“Vinnie,” Sonny whispered.

Surrounded by that warm body now, “Yeah. I got you.”

*

 

Sorrow has a human heart  
From my god it will depart

The truth at the end of time:  
Losing faith makes a crime

 

\- Nightwish, “Sleeping Sun”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this work by Natasha Solten, you may also enjoy her m/m romances on Kindle under her non-fanfic name: Wendy Rathbone. Look for "The Foundling," "The Secret Sharer" and the soon to be released "None Can Hold the Dark" (due in fall 2013.) She also has an sf novel out, and a collection of poetry.


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